


Friday To Monday

by cyus (cruentum)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruentum/pseuds/cyus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The vodka helps sometimes, but even so, Jackson still feels like he's losing his mind with this. Danny's the only one who can keep him grounded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday To Monday

He kept a bottle of vodka in his closet. With the dildos and the whips he'd bought on a dare - half of one anyway -, where the cleaning lady knew better than to poke her nose. _They_ didn't give a shit what he did so long as he smiled politely when their friends were over, so even if they knew about the vodka (or the dildos and the whips), they'd still have their glass of red wine in front of the fireplace with some documentary about people dying somewhere far away on the TV.

He drank the vodka straight from the bottle and felt like he was going out of his mind with it, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring out through the window to the forest beyond and trying to remember what he'd done last night, or the night before that. Then trying to forget the _stuff_ running down his body in the shower, trying to forget how much it had smelled like blood and the shit he'd retched up down the drain.

His mind was fucking with him, and nothing, _nothing_ fucked with Jackson Whittemore. He took another healthy gulp, one more, until the jitters became the room swimming in front of his eyes and the grope for the phone took three or four times until he was successful, dialing even more.

As the call went out, in the silence between dialing and first ring, the scratching in the back of his mind started up again, over the sound of the tasteful television, even through the haze of the alcohol, then the ring went through and-

"Jackson?" Danny said on the other end of the line, sounding a little out of breath.

"Hmm," Jackson brought out, forcing himself head-first into the faint background static behind Danny's breathing, making it block out everything else. "Friday. It's a Friday night!" he guessed.

"Yeah, yeah I know." Danny laughed, a bit uneasy, whispered something to someone else. "What's up with you?"

"Just- enjoying a Friday." Jackson brought the bottle to his lips and let the alcohol flow down his throat as his toes curled into the carpet, his fingers into the mattress. His eyes swimming he thought he saw his nails grow - flash, heart catching then catching up - but with another blink, it was back to normal and he leaned forward, forehead on his knees. "It's a good Friday. Isn't it? Are you having a good Friday?" His words slurred then got bit out and bitter and when Danny snorted at the other end of the line, he had half a thought to take them back.

"I had. Are you sure you're all right?"

Jackson gave it a beat, and another, words on the tip of his tongue spilling about how he was missing whole nights and bits of days, couldn't remember getting to school or getting home, couldn't remember the clothes he wore or why he came to under the cold shower, needing...

"Peachy," Jackson said, eventually. 

"Well, then... Have-"

"Wait." Jackson pressed his heel to the bed, letting the pain cut through the haze and trying not to let the silence in-between win with his head going funny whenever nothing else was occupying it. It was like something was inside him. It made his skin crawl and want to tear out his limbs. "Tonight. Can you..."

Silence on the line. Long enough for the first hint of whispers to come through even as Jackson finished the bottle and slipped it into the nightstand with the other empty ones, containing the shivers with his nails digging into his knees.

"You're not-"

"Please."

"Give me an hour."

Danny hung up and Jackson slipped the phone to the bed before he stood and began to pace, drew the blinds on the too-big windows because the night seemed to crawl into the room, then opened them again when the walls stood too close and robbed him off his breath. He knocked his knuckles against the wall, forehead pressed to it, keeping out the crawling tightness of his skin with each measured sound, forcing his breaths into beats with it.

The doorbell rang, footsteps and brief conversation, the scent of crackling firewood and faint Merlot as the door opened and Danny came in, closed the door behind him. Jackson had his eyes closed and his nose and lips touching the plaster of the wall, until Danny's fingers curled around the nape of his neck and he pushed close, crowding into Jackson's space and that of ... all the other things in his head.

"You've had too much," Danny said.

It used to be a few glasses of vodka orange on weekends they didn't have a game. A few glasses after the inevitable Friday night, Saturday night party, a few glasses on top of the kegs and the smokes. A few glasses, drunken phonecalls and drunken fumbles until Danny had shoved him up against a wall and told him that he'd had to want it sober to get it drunk. And no one had ever told Jackson he couldn't have something he wanted.

Jackson had shoved the dildos up his ass, cleaned them and brought them to school the next Monday, setting them down on Danny's desk just before chemistry as Harris strode in for class. "I'm still working up to that one," he'd said, pointed at the largest, and still had had to wait too many long months of wanting to get off with something other than his hand or a girl's too sweet lips and too soft pussy.

"Not too much," Jackson said now, even as the room was spinning at alarming speed. He pressed back against Danny, pushed his face into the crook of Danny's neck and inhaled clean sweat and heat, no blood, no damp, moist stink of the forest and the sewers that never seemed to leave his nostrils. He scrambled for Danny's trousers, the button and the zip. "I know you were getting some. I can give you some."

Danny caught Jackson's hands and pushed them down, held them down even as Jackson fought him, and wrestled him around until Jackson was facefirst on the bed, his stomach rolling. 

"Do you need a bucket?" Danny said into Jackson's ear, fingers tight on Jackson's wrists now in the small of his back. Jackson shook his head immediately, but Danny held him only tighter. "Think again."

"Maybe?"

"Stay." 

Jackson stayed, hands in the small of his back as Danny's weight lifted off the mattress. The light from the bathroom spilled across the floor and dragged Danny's shadow into grotesque shapes and movements that brought the bile to the back of Jackson's mouth and into the bucket as soon as Danny had shoved it at him. He coughed through the vomit, his throat burning, nose clogging up and eyes tearing as he heaved and tried not to think. Danny curled his fingers into Jackson's shirt and around the back of his neck, thumb brushing at Jackson's ear. He held out a glass of water and cloth when Jackson pushed away the bucket and left him to it as he cleaned up.

Jackson pressed his cheek to the cool duvet, the night looking in through the gaps in the blinds, and he thought he saw the hint of a full moon but before he could quite go there, Danny was back on the bed behind him and drew Jackson's hands to his back, encirled Jackson's wrists with his fingers.

"I should make it up to you," Jackson said, tongue working even through the residual, now calming spin of the room.

"You wouldn't find your way if you tried right now."

"I would. I could suck-"

"-I don't need your vomit on my cock," Danny replied, breath rasping through Jackson's hair and making him press back against Danny's front.

Danny's cock was hard in his jeans, hard against Jackson's scrabbling fingers, but Danny only tightened his grip. "You can make it up to me on Monday. After practice. In the showers."

Jackson tried again but Danny raked his nails up his back, under his shirt, and Jackson stilled with a whimper and half a memory. Danny had never asked and Jackson had never volunteered, he'd only shoved Jackson back when Jackson had gone at him with fists and told him that he didn't care for his shit and that other people went through crap too.

Not as much crap as this, not with hours and hours just disappearing down the drain and that stupid gang of idiots and Derek fucking Hale looking at him like he'd be strapped down in a jacket any moment. 

"Monday," Jackson said, clinging to it, one, then twenty-four and twenty-four and eight hours and they were talking Monday and school. He stared at the clock on his bedside table, willing the numbers into focus and whatever was crawling around in his head to stay the fuck away as Danny lay curled around him, breathing past his ear, hard and hot and his grip firm on Jackson's wrists like he alone was keeping Jackson from getting dragged away.

"You need to stop," Danny said. "Coach will fry you at practice if you keep it up."

"What?" Jackson's throat was dry. He watched the trees weave dark in the night and the wind outside.

"The vodka. It's too much."

"Yeah." Jackson wriggled in the grip but Danny didn't let him go even as Jackson's shirt got damp with both their sweat between them.

Jackson zoned out, dropping away into scratching and voices and shouts and insidious whispers telling him too much dark shit, telling him _things_ , then jerked awake but Danny was holding him, arm across his shoulders as he thrashed then stilled.

"Nightmare?" It was night out, Danny's voice sounding tired. 

Jackson managed a nod. "Friday? Is it Friday?"

Danny chuckled, amused. "Yes. Still Friday. Just like two hours ago when this guy was about to suck my cock."

"Good." 

Danny snorted but didn't let him go, kept him there. And even though Jackson was afraid to close his eyes lest he woke up Tuesday with no memory of the days in-between, he rested better than in weeks, no voices, nothing inside him just waiting to come out again. Only the night dragging into dawn outside as Danny slept behind him, fingers still clasped around Jackson's wrists.


End file.
